I Drabble
by TheNextFolchart
Summary: Give me your tired, your poor/Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. / A little bit of everything. Harry Potter fandom.
1. The Flower

**The Flower**

* * *

They fell in love standing on a bridge in the middle of the park, and neither of them meant for it to happen.

"One, two, three, what do you wish?" Rose Weasley whispered, clutching her muggle coin tightly in her fist, and she was fifteen and wide-eyed and breathtakingly lovely, and the girl holding her hand _knew it_.

"What do I wish, what do I wish," Dominique sang under her breath. Her hair hung in ringlets down her back - black hair, not red like her father's or blonde like her mother's, because they _weren't _her father and mother, her birth parents hadn't wanted her and her birth grandparents hadn't wanted her but the Weasleys wanted her, _Rose _wanted her, and what was the harm in returning the sentiments?

"Come on, Nicki. One, two, three." Rose had one hand braced against the wooden railing; the sun caught the silver band around her middle finger, and Dominique couldn't tell whether it was the sudden shining light or the girl herself that was dazzling her.

"I want a flower," Dominique said. "I wish for a flower." She dropped her coin into the pond.

"A flower," Rose repeated. "You could've wished for anything, and you wished for a bloody flower?"

Dominique shrugged. "It has a good chance of coming true, doesn't it?" she said. "We're in a park, there are flowers everywhere."

"Still. Dream big, Nicki." Rose threw her coin as far across the pond as she could. "I wish someone would fall in love with me," she said as the coin disappeared.

As they walked away from the bridge, Rose veered off to the left where a patch of daisies had been planted around a flagpole. She stooped and picked one with a flourish. "For you," she said, tucking the daisy behind Dominique's ear. "Your flower. A daisy from a Rose."

"Thank you," Dominique said, and she forced herself to smile, because _that wasn't what she'd meant at all_.

* * *

There was a kiss a year later on the same bridge in the middle of the park, and neither of them meant for that to happen, either.

"One, two, three, what do you wish?" Rosie asked, and she was sixteen and pale and lovely and Dominique still adored her.

"I wish for a flower," she said, and dropped her muggle coin into the water.

"Always a flower with you," Rose said, shaking her head fondly, and Dominique looked down so her cousin wouldn't see the truth in her eyes. "I wish for a forbidden romance," she said, tossing her own coin.

(Dominique couldn't help wondering if she'd made that wish on _purpose_, if she _knew, _or _suspected_, or subconsciously _wanted it, too.)_

"Nicki?" Rose asked, putting a hand on her shoulder, and the skin there _tingled _and _burned _and felt absolutely _electric. _"Are you okay?"

Dominique stared at the ground again. "I - yes. I was just thinking about something."

"About what?"

And Dominique looked up and opened her mouth to lie, but then she realized Rosie wasn't looking at her eyes, she was looking lower, at her _lips_ -

- and suddenly everything was instinct and heartbeats and making each other's wishes come true.

* * *

One of them had her heart broken on the park bridge, and neither of them meant for it to happen, except that one of them did.

"I wish for the truth," Dominique said bitterly, dropping her coin into the pond.

(But that was a lie. She already had the truth. She just wished it_ weren't true at all_.)

"The truth about what?" Rosie asked.

"Hugo told me you're seeing Scorpius Malfoy."

Rose froze. "Hugo says a lot of things."

Dominique felt something in her begin to bleed. "Lily said it, too."

"Lily's full of - "

"He said, she said, who _cares_ who said it!" Dominique's eyes were stinging. "I just want to know if it's true."

Rose clenched her jaw. "You knew we weren't going to last, Nicki. You're my bloody cousin. It was wrong."

"We're not _real cousins._" She was bleeding, bleeding, bleeding."Or did no one explain the adoption process to you?"

"I'm sorry if you thought we were serious," Rose snapped.

"I wish I'd never met you."

"Here, then." Rose pressed her coin into Dominique's palm. "Make it official." And she stalked away, out of the park, out of sight.

Dominique leaned over the bridge and looked at the water for a very long time. "I wish I had a flower," she whispered finally, and she let the coin fall.

* * *

_[I Kissed A Girl Competition]_

_[Relationship Bingo Board Challenge: D4 - Femmeslash]_

_[Female Challenge: __Catherine Earnshaw - write about a relative ending a relationship.__]_

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Shine]_

_[Collect A Collection Competition: Rose (Weasleys)]_

_[100 Prompts Challenge: "He said, she said, who cares who said it? I just want to know if it's true."; Bridge; Flagpole]_


	2. Stars

**Stars**

_For Ari (Aim. Reach. Increase.)_

* * *

On their first date, he took her to the Three Broomsticks, and it was noisy and crowded and exactly the sort of thing she hated, which was why she vowed before the first hour was up that there would be no second date.

Because if a crowded pub and drunken dancing was his way of wooing her, then clearly Frank Longbottom didn't know her at all.

"Aren't you having fun?" he shouted over the raucous music coming from the live band in the corner. "They're up-and-coming!" he added, gesturing at the five wizards pounding away on their instruments. "The Charcoal Cockroaches. They're going to be worldwide someday!"

Alice smiled and tried to ignore her pounding headache. She could be back at school right now, with a nice cup of tea and a good book and her fuzzy bathrobe wrapped around her to keep out the wintery chill. . . .

"Oh, this is their best song!" Frank called, slamming the table in time with the drumbeats. Alice let out a heavy sigh that nobody could hear. "It's called All The Stars Are Rotting."

"_All the stars are rotting!_" shrieked the lead singer. "_Everything is dead! And nobody can save you from the demons in your head!_"

"The lyrics are so deep," Frank positively screamed.

Alice leaned forward so she could reach him. "I'm going back to the dormitory," she said. "I can't - it's too loud in here."

Frank's face fell. "What? No, you can't go yet! The chorus is the best part!"

"Frank, it's not my kind of music!"

"_And when you're dead the cockroaches will smell you,_" the lead singer was bellowing. "_And when you're dead your sinew will be worm food!"_

Alice slid out of the booth. "I'm going to be sick." She started for the door.

Frank jumped up. "Alice! Wait!"

She burst out into the cold night and wrapped her arms around herself. The path to Hogwarts was unlit, but the moon was full; it would be enough to let her find her way back. "Worm food," she muttered, starting down the road. "_Honestly._"

"Alice!"

She didn't stop walking.

"Come on, Alice, wait up!" He ran to catch up with her, slipping on a patch of ice and nearly falling on his face in the process. "I'm sorry. Really. I - that was a terrible first date."

Alice let herself smirk. "Do you actually like those - what are they called? The Grey Cockroaches?"

"Charcoal Cockroaches."

She laughed. Her head was feeling better already. "What does that even mean? And that crap about the stars?" She stopped walking and tilted her head back to look at the sky. "The stars aren't dead." Her breath was coming out in puffs of fog. "They're shining just fine."

"They're amazing," Frank said quietly, but he wasn't looking at the stars.

A comfortable silence settled in around them. "Whenever I feel sad, I like to pretend they're only shining for me," she admitted, shivering a little. Frank pulled off his coat and draped it around her shoulders. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Frank cleared his throat. "I don't, by the way."

"Hm?"

"I don't like the Charcoal Cockroaches. I just thought maybe you would."

She brought her gaze down from the sky. "Why?"

"Because you're into artsy things - underground bands, poets. Things like that. You even write your own poems. Don't you?"

"I do." And she was surprised - and touched - that he knew that.

"And you're so _amazing_, Alice. More amazing than all the stars put together. Can't you see that? You're a scholar, and an athlete, and a poet - and I'm crazy about you, so it figured that I'd screw everything up on the very first date."

She shook her head. "Nothing's screwed up."

Frank raised his eyebrows. "No?"

She rocked forward and put her hands on his shoulders. "No," she whispered, and she pulled his frozen lips down to meet hers, and suddenly everything was stars and warmth and comfort, and Alice was very, very sure that there would be a second date after all.

* * *

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Moon]_

_[Battleship Challenge: "Look at the stars/Look how they shine for you"; Charcoal Grey; "She's the scholar, athlete, poet/I'm the screw up, don't I know it"]_

_[Collect A Collection: Frank Longbottom. Prompt: Amazing]_

_[Het-Pairings Boot Camp: Shine]_

_[Female Character Challenge: Elizabeth Bennet - write about someone whose idea was proven wrong]_


	3. Three

**Three**

* * *

Hestia Jones had spoken to Kingsley Shacklebolt exactly three times.

The first was at Hogwarts, when she was a first year and he was Head Boy and she was being bullied by some Slytherins twice her size.

"Knock it off," Kingsley had boomed in his deep voice, and the Slytherins had scampered, leaving Hestia behind to pick up her scattered notes. "Those gits," Kingsley had said as he bent to help her. "Slytherins, weren't they?"

She'd nodded, keeping her eyes on the ground.

"I'll track them down and have a word," he promised, handing her a few pages of her Transfiguration notes. "Do they bother you often?"

She nodded again. "I'm a mudblood," she whispered. "I deserve it."

"No, you don't." He'd leaned down to put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't let them call you that. Don't let them make you _believe _that. Your blood is red, same as the rest of us. And they are no better than you."

* * *

The second time Hestia crossed paths with Kingsley was on her first day of Auror training, and neither recognized the other from Hogwarts.

"Jones, Hestia," he called in that deep voice. She stepped forward. "You'll be training under Auror Moody."

She walked toward Moody, whose magical eye was swirling fast enough to make her dizzy, and somehow managed to trip over nothing at all.

Kingsley caught her just before she hit the ground. "Careful," he said with a little smirk. "Can't have you out of commission before we even begin, eh?"

"Clumsy mudblood," someone whispered from behind her.

Kingsley turned, mouth open to tell off the Trainee, but Hestia already had her wand out.

"_Incarcerus_," she said, and roped shot out of her wand and bound the Trainee tightly. "My blood is red," she said coldly. "Same as the rest of you."

The room wet absolutely silent, save for the grunts of the bound Trainee.

It was Kingsley who broke the silence. "Moody, would you consider allowing Miss Jones to train under me, instead?"

Moody was grinning. "Not a chance, Shacklebolt. This one's all mine."

* * *

The third time Hestia spoke with Kingsley Shacklebolt was outside Grimmauld Place, just after the Advanced Guard had delivered Harry to his new safe house.

"What did you think of your first official field mission, Auror Jones?" he asked.

She grinned, because she'd worked four solid years for that title, and it was so good to hear it said aloud. "Brilliant, Auror Shacklebolt."

He waved his hand. "Please, call me Kingsley."

"Only if you'll continue to call me Auror," she said, and he smirked.

"You really are impressive," he said. "I've never seen anyone so determined, except maybe Moody. But you're a hell of a lot prettier than he is."

She laughed. "Are you going inside for the meeting?" she asked, shivering a little.

"Not tonight. Got to get back to the Ministry. Here." He shrugged out of his leather jacket and draped it around her shoulders. "Night flights are terrible without one of these."

She smiled and pulled it around herself. "Thank you."

He licked his lips. "We've never really gotten to know each other, you and I, have we?"

She shook her head.

"I - d'you think you'd ever want to?"

She blinked. "You mean as Aurors?"

"I mean as friends." He licked his lips again. "Because I've had one eye on you ever since your first day, and you seem like the type of person I'd really like to get to know."

She shrugged. "There's not much to know," she admitted. "I'm muggleborn. I don't stand for people teasing me about it. And I have a brand-new leather jacket."

He laughed, and it made her stomach feel curiously warm. "That can't be everything about you."

"What do you want to know?"

He was still smiling. "What's your favourite drink?"

"Firewhiskey."

"And what would it take to convince you to let me buy you some?"

There were butterflies dancing within her. "A please."

"Please?" he repeated. "That's all? Are you sure? You have a rare opportunity to exploit me, here, Auror Jones. Don't waste it."

She smirked. "Please, and I get to keep this leather jacket."

"Done." He cleared his throat. "Auror Jones. Would you _please _come out with me for a firewhiskey?"

She bit down on her lip and smiled. "I'd like that."

(Hestia Jones had spoken to Kingsley Shacklebolt exactly three times.

And it was enough to make her love him.)

* * *

_I typed this on an iPad. It was not easy. #cryforattention #appreciateme_

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Hestia Jones]_

_[Female Character Challenge: Mary Poppins - write about someone who is good at his/her job.]_

_[Collect A Collection: Hestia Jones. Word Prompt: Official]_

_[Relationship Bingo Board: C3 - Leather]_

_[Hook A Prompt Challenge: Kingsley Shacklebolt]_

_[100 Prompts: A strange question]_

_[Het-Pairings Boot Camp: Accept]_


	4. Red Lips

**Red Lips**

* * *

Watching Ginny Weasley walk down the aisle was the hardest thing Luna Lovegood had ever done, and every piece of her wanted to get up and run out of the church.

(She didn't, of course, because Luna Lovegood was a professional when it came to smothering her instincts.)

"Congratulations," she said to them when it was over. "Look after her, Harry," she added when the bride was pulled away by a sobbing relative. "She deserves it."

"I think she looks after herself, for the most part," Harry said.

Luna was biting the inside of her lip hard. "Look after her anyway."

* * *

_Ginny was weeping into Luna's arms. "I don't know what to do anymore," she managed. "I'm _scared _for him. So scared it's exhausting. So scared I can't sleep. And there's nothing I can do - he's away finding horcruxes, and there isn't anything I can bloody _do _except go to lessons and pretend I'm fine."_

_"You don't have to pretend to me,_" _Luna said, stroking her friend's back. "You can tell me, I know, I understand."_

_"I wish I could forget about him. Just for a little while."_

_"I know it's hard," Luna whispered. "I know. Losing you love people, even for a little while, it's agonizing."_

_Ginny blinked hard until her tears stopped flowing. "How do you do it?" she asked. "How do you cope with missing your mum?"_

_"I bite my lip," Luna said. "I bite down hard. I bite until it hurts worse than missing her."_

_Ginny shook her head. "I don't want more pain." She sniffled. "I want a distraction."_

_"What kind of distraction? I could tell you a story, if you want. Or do a dance. I'm not a good dancer, but I'll try, if you want."_

_Ginny looked at her with an expression Luna couldn't quite read. "Different kind," she said in a low voice._

_"What - _oh!_"_

_Because Ginny had darted forward and seized Luna's face between her hands and kissed her roughly, and Luna had never been kissed like that - she'd never been kissed at all - but it brought a spark to her lips and she leaned into it until the only thing either of them could taste was blood from the bite mark on Luna's lower lip._

* * *

When Ginny Potter - because she was Potter now, not Weasley, and it sounded strange, it sounded _wrong_ - tossed her wedding bouquet over her shoulder, Luna was the one who caught it.

(She didn't want it, though. Not when the only kiss she'd ever had had just promised her eternity to someone else.)

She pressed her lips to the bouquet, and the white flowers came away red.

* * *

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Luna Lovegood]_

_[Collect A Colletion: Ginny Weasley]_

_[I Kissed A Girl Competition]_

_[100 Prompts: "Look after her. She deserves it."; lust]_


	5. Apostrphe S

**Apostrophe S**

_For Yamiyugi23_

* * *

It had been two thousand one hundred and forty-eight days since George Weasley had changed the sign on the door from, "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes" to, "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

Nobody had noticed.

Why would they? It was one tiny apostrophe. It was barely there; barely even necessary. And why should it matter to the customers whether there were two Weasleys behind the counter or only one? It wasn't as if they were stopping by for a family reunion.

But George had always been one for the details, so he'd flipped the "s" and the apostrophe, and now every time he looked toward the door he felt a curious pang of sadness.

"If it makes you so upset, just change it back," Lee Jordan had suggested, and George had lost his temper and screamed that it wasn't that easy, it wasn't that simple, and _didn't Lee think he wished he could?_

"Honestly, George," Angelina Johnson said when she stopped in on the two-thousand one hundred and forty-eighth day. "Look at you. You're badly overworked. When's the last time you shaved?"

"I'm _fine_," George said, and then, "Oi! Ponytail! Keep your hands out of the fish tank, they'll bite your fingers off!" The blonde girl by the fish hastily withdrew her hand. "I swear half the people who come in here can't read," he added to Angelina. "The sign's right there on the tank: 'Do Not Touch Goldfish. They Are Actually Transfigured Whale Sharks.'"

"Do people actually buy those?" Angelina asked.

"A fair few, yeah. They give them as gifts to horrible relatives, mostly." George stifled a yawn. Angelina noticed.

"You need to get some rest," she said. "It's time you look after yourself for a change."

"I'm fine, I told you."

"Humor me."

"Humor yourself, you're in a bloody joke shop," he said, but his heart wasn't in it.

"I mean it. I'm worried about you. When's the last time you slept?"

"Honestly?" He started toward the back room. She followed close behind. "I don't remember. Monday maybe?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Today's Monday."

"Last Monday, then?"

Angelina sighed. "I know you miss him. I miss him, too. But you can't just - "

"You have _no idea_," George snapped, "how much I miss him."

"No, I don't. But I know you feel dead inside. I know everything reminds you of him - every memory, every family member, every inch of this place. I know that sometimes you can convince yourself _just for a second _that everything's fine, until it comes crashing down again, and it hurts just as badly as it did the very first time. And I know how tempting it is to use _obliviate_, and try and remove that part of your memory altogether, just so you can stop feeling so tortured. But I also know you'll never do that. Because as much as it absolutely kills you to remember, it would be worse to sit there and have to wonder why you feel so bloody _empty_."

She was crying. He'd never seen her cry before.

"And the worst part is, he was nothing to me. He was a handful of Quidditch matches and one dance and about two years of wishes that didn't come true. Every school has a troublemaker, a rule breaker, a ladies' man, and that's all he was to me. So if I'm feeling all those terrible things over such a stranger, I cannot even _begin _to imagine how you feel."

Now _he _was crying.

"So forgive me, George Weasley, for being a little bit _worried about your health._"

"I - " He swallowed. "I didn't mean - "

"I know you didn't." She coaxed him into a hug. "But that sign on your door - George, you really need to change it back."

"And what, make it grammatically incorrect?" He shook his head in mock horror. "Hermione would murder me."

She didn't smirk. "It makes it seem like you're alone. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. One Weasley. Just George. All alone. But you're not alone, George." She pulled back from him long enough to kiss his tear-stained cheek. "He's gone, but you're not alone." She pressed her lips to his skin again.

He slipped his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her head until she was kissing his lips, and it was bitter and ugly and rough around the edges, but it was also the sweetest kind of _relief._

Because in the past two thousand one hundred and forty-eight days, Angelina Johnson was the closest he'd come to feeling whole again.

* * *

_[Battleship Challenge: "Honestly, you're badly overworked," she said as she shot her friend a pointed look. "It is time to look after yourself for a change."]_

_[Wizard Family Portrait Challenge: George Weasley]_

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Obliviate]_

_[Star Challenge: Castor and Pollux - write about the Weasley twins]_

_[100 prompts: "Every school has a rulebreaker, a troublemaker, a ladies' man. He's ours.]_

_[Het-Pairings Boot Camp: relief]_


	6. No

**No**

* * *

He had never loved anyone before Gellert, and he never loved anyone after, either.

He'd _liked_ plenty of people: a girl named Allison from his second-year Charms class, the perky blonde witch who worked at the Three Broomsticks, his best friend Elphias Doge (though he never said anything to him). And of course he cared about his mother and his father and his siblings.

But Gellert was the one who came in like a firework and went out like a bomb, and Albus was never the same again after he was gone.

They'd met entirely by accident. Gellert was visiting his aunt and Albus was home for the holidays, and it wasn't love at first sight (because it's only love at first sight if it's requited) and it wasn't even infatuation, it was just two boys passing each other on the street, and one of them tripping, and the other one reaching out to save him before he fell. It was a wand falling out of Albus' pocket and Gellert noticing and pulling out a wand of his own, and it was glee at finding someone else in this muggle town who knew about magic.

And soon it was late-night conversations and twelve-page letters and plans about cleansing the world, about purifying it, about returning the power to the powerful and putting the weak in their places.

(Later on it was shouting and rowing and duelling and killing, and that was when Albus realized he didn't want to play anymore.)

"I'm tired of fighting," he said when they came face to face for the final time, and the hardest part hadn't been the battle, the hardest part was _now_, when it was over, because _he still loved him._ "I'm tired of thinking. I'm tired of everything."

"Are you tired of me?" Gellert asked quietly, turning his broken wand over and over in his hands.

"You're the reason why," he admitted. "It's you I can't stop thinking about. It's you, always you. It will always be you."

Gellert looked up at that. "Are you going to let me go, then?"

_Yes, if you'll promise to leave all of this behind and start a life with me._

_Yes, if you'll stop looking at the world like it's a prize to be won._

_Yes, if you'll lie and tell me you love me._

_Yes, if you'll kiss me, just once._

_Yes, I'd do anything for you._

"Albus?"

But Albus turned away.

* * *

_[Collect A Collection Compeition: Albus Dumbledore (Order Members)]_

_[Drabble-A-Thon: Pureblood]_

_[30 Harry Potter Prompts: Wand]_

_[100 Prompts Challenge:__ "I'm tired of fighting, of talking, of thinking. I'm tired of everything." "Are you tired of me?" "You're the reason why. It's you that I can't stop thinking and talking about. It's my love for you that I can't stop fighting. It's you, it's always you and it always will be you."; "I am not a prize to be won."__]_


	7. Scary Stories

**Scary Stories**

* * *

The candles were probably unnecessary, in Lucy Weasley's opinion. The rapid streaks of lightning were lightening up the Hufflepuff common room just fine.

But the rest of the Badgers had insisted, so she'd conjured some tapers and now she was huddled up next to her cousin with her knees tucked up under her nightgown, praying that nothing would tip over and set the common room on fire.

"It was a dark and stormy night," Dominique said with a grin. Outside, the thunder growled in agreement. Lucy shuddered. Dominique felt it. "Don't be a baby, Luce," she said, ruffling her cousin's hair fondly. "It was a dark and stormy night, just like this one, when Bellatrix Lestrange crawled out of Azkaban."

"Bellatrix Lestrange _again_?" a third-year groaned.

"If you don't want to hear scary stories, you can go back to your dormitory, Lorcan," Dominique snapped.

Lorcan Scamander rolled his eyes but stayed where he was.

"Bellatrix Lestrange was the most dangerous Death Eater in all of Azkaban." Three quick bolts of lightning, followed by a _boom. _"She took the greatest pleasure in torturing people - slowly, too, so she could drag it out as long as possible. They called her the Cruciatus Queen."

More lightning, and Lucy shivered again.

"So Bellatrix Lestrange was at the Battle of Hogwarts, and she was laughing maniacally as she slashed down everyone in her path. She used _avada kedavra _on some of them."

(At the name of the spell, Lucy squeaked.)

"Those were the lucky ones," Dominique whispered dramatically. The Hufflepuffs were hanging on her every word. "For the special wizards, Bellatrix brought out the real torture. She froze someone's lungs, so he couldn't breathe and he suffocated. She enchanted someone's legs to tapdance him up seven flights of stairs and right off the ledge of the Astronomy Tower. She used _crucio_ on people until they were _insane_, and then she left them alive."

Lightning. Thunder. A tiny moan from Lucy.

"And then she came face to face with my grandmum," Dominique said. "Molly Weasley the first. She killed the Cruciatus Queen and saved us all. But she's never told anyone which spell she used to do it. She swears it wasn't _avada kedavra_. But if it wasn't the killing curse, then maybe Bellatrix didn't die after all."

"Don't you have some way to make this go a little faster?" Lorcan asked from the back of the common room, but Lucy heard his voice waver, just a little, and she knew he was just as scared as she was.

"They say Bellatrix is still here, in the castle somewhere. When my grandmum's spell wore off, Bellatrix ran and hid in the Chamber of Secrets. And on the anniversary of her death - May the second, which happens to start tonight at midnight - she crawls out, same way she crawled out of Azkaban, and comes for revenge. She won't touch the Slytherins. They were on her side. But she has it out for the rest of us. Hufflepuffs especially. Because we're a loyal bunch, and we certainly weren't loyal to her side."

A particularly bright flash of lightning, and then the door to the common room flew open to reveal a woman with wild hair.

"It's her!" Lorcan screamed, and Lucy ducked into her cousin's side and began to sob.

"What's going on in here?" the woman asked. "_Lumos!_"

"Professor _Sprout_?" Dominique asked, stroking Lucy's hair comfortingly.

"What are you all doing up?" Professor Sprout asked. "It's past bedtime for everyone under fifth year."

"We wanted to tell scary stories," Dominique explained, coaxing Lucy's face out of her lap. "Perfect night for it, don't you think?"

"Scary stories?" Sprout raised one bushy eyebrow, and Lucy was sure they were all about to have detention. "And why wasn't I invited?" their Head of House asked brightly, plopping down onto the carpet. "I know a great one about Emeric the Evil."

And she launched into her tale, surrounded by eagerly-listening Hufflepuffs and the sounds of the thunder outside.

* * *

_[Collect A Collection Compeition: Lucy (Weasleys)]_

_[Drabble-A-Thon: lightening]_

_[Hook A Prompt Challenge: Hufflepuff Common Room]_

_[100 Prompts Challenge:__"Don't you have something to make this go a little faster?"__]_

_[30 Harry Potter Prompts: Hufflepuff]_

_[Twelve Days of Christmas Style Challenge: A student from each house - Hufflepuff (2/4)]_

_[Star Challenge: Arcrux - write about the Cruciatus Curse]_


	8. Come Alone

**Come Alone**

* * *

"_Let's go bother Snape!_"

It was those four words that drove him to Lucius Malfoy.

Because Malfoy had made it clear his first day in Slytherin that when Severus needed a friend, he could find one in Lucius.

He'd shrugged it off at first. He didn't need friends in Slytherin. He had Lily. She was all he needed. He'd tolerate Potter and Black and Lupin and Pettigrew - maybe he'd even learn to like them - and when Hogwarts was over he and Lily would go somewhere far away and never bother with this nonsense again.

(That was before the incident with the Whomping Willow. And the one that left him hanging upside-down. And so many others.)

And before he knew it he was a sixth-year and Lily hated him and "Let's go bother Snape!" was a daily battle cry, which was how he found himself sitting in his dormitory penning a letter to one already-graduated Lucius Malfoy.

_Can't take it anymore_, he wrote, and the quill bit into the parchment so roughly that it tore in a few places. _I'd like to take you up on that friendship._

The reply came back only an hour later: _Excellent choice. Dungeons, eleven o'clock. Come alone._

* * *

The dungeons were deserted when Severus walked in at eleven.

"Lucius?" he said, and it was barely above a whisper but it still echoed. "Is anyone here?" He knew about these late-night gatherings in the dungeons - knew some of his fellow Slytherins liked to meet up every few weeks and practise the Dark Arts in support of You-Know-Who. He'd never actually been to one, but he'd assumed that was what Lucius was talking about in his letter. "Lucius?"

There was a light streaming out from beneath the potion master's office. Severus pushed the door open carefully. "Lucius?"

But the office, too, was empty, and the light came from a single candle on the desk that was melted almost entirely away.

"Is anyone down here?" Severus asked, a little more loudly this time.

There was a _whoosh_, and Severus felt something cold and sticky trickling down the back of his neck. He whirled around to see a large jar of leech juice _pouring itself on his head. _"What the - "

Stifled laughter came from a few feet in front of him, and then Potter and Black appeared from out of nowhere - Black had the jar in his hands, Potter was holding a long, silvery cloak - with grins on their arrogant faces. "'Excellent choice,'" Potter said in a comically deep voice, as if he were mocking someone. "'Dungeons. Eleven o'clock. Come alone.' Bloody _brilliant._"

"How did you know," Snape began, but then it came together in his head. "You intercepted my letter."

"We didn't think you'd actually come," Black said, setting the empty jar back on the shelf. "I told you, Prongs, I said, 'Snivelly's dumb, but not _this _dumb.'"

Potter pushed a hand through his messy black hair. "And I told you, Pads: Snivelly might just be _that dumb._"

A hundred hexes ran through Severus' head at once, but he didn't use any of them. Instead he turned on his heel and stalked away toward the Slytherin common room. "Regulus," he said, nudging the boy who'd fallen asleep in an armchair. "Reg, wake up."

"Hmm?" Regulus Black blinked a few times. "Wassamatter?"

"When's the next secret dungeon meeting?"

"I dunno. Next week, I think. Why?"

"I want to join." He curled his hand into a fist around his wand. "There are some people I'd like to put in their places."

Reg smiled sleepily. "That's what we do, my friend," he said, and he dozed back off.

* * *

_[Drabble-A-Thon: Snape]_

_[Collect A Collection: Lucius Malfoy]_

_[100 Prompts: "Let's go bother Snape."]_

_[Hook A Prompt Challenge: Whomping Willow]_

_[30 Harry Potter Prompts: Slytherin]_

_[Twelve Days of Christmas Style Challenge: Four Houses - Slytherin (3/4)]_


	9. The Kind of Woman

**The Kind of Woman**

* * *

She was the kind of woman who wanted attention even when she didn't want attention, and that was why it was no surprise she ended up in Ravenclaw. She spent seven years lounging around the common room, bragging about her marks and her achievements and all her shiny Prefect badges, and then she walked out of Hogwarts and into the arms of a man who was her inferior in every way.

(That's the way she wanted it.)

She was the kind of woman who would gladly give up love for fame, and fame for money, and money for love. Around and around she went, trading things for other things, better things, and it never occurred to her - not even once - that she wasn't happy. Everything was about publicity and scandal and forcing the world to _look at her, dammit. _Happiness wasn't worth fading into the background. So she took all the drugs and drank all the booze and slept with all the men - and two women - and she did it loudly and with as much fuss as possible.

(That's the way she liked it.)

There were women who followed the rules and there were women who knew how to charm their way around them, but she was the kind of woman who _knocked the rules over _and took what she wanted - and even when she didn't want anything at all, she knocked them over for the sake of throwing a tantrum. And she heard what they called her behind her back: a rude, uncouth instigator, and a braggart to boot. But she didn't care. Nothing was insulting as long as it involved her name.

When her niece was born, she called baby Molly an ugly cow, and they'd thrown her out of St. Mungo's. The entire family had shunned her for nearly a month, but it was fine, it was better than fine, because if they were angry with her at least they knew she existed.

(And sometimes, late at night, after her first bottle of brandy, she wasn't so sure she existed at all.)

The years went by, and there were more births and deaths and weddings and funerals, and she was the kind of woman who wanted to be there for all of them (preferably in a new dress each time, and preferably wearing white at all the weddings), and she butted her way into every conversation and dropped all kinds of shock-inducing comments, and she knew they breathed sighs of relief every time she walked away, but she didn't _care_, it wasn't about being _liked_, it wasn't about being _wanted_, it was about making her mark on the damn world - and she was the kind of woman who knew that infamy was easier to come by than fame.

She was the kind of woman who was deathly afraid of being forgotten.

(When she died, nobody bothered to come to the funeral.)

* * *

_[Collect A Collection: Muriel (Weasley Family)]_

_[Twelve Days of Christmas Style Challenge: Four Houses - Ravenclaw (4/4)]_

_[Heads or Tails Challenge: Tails - write a drabble]_


	10. Idiot: (n) a stupid person

**Idiot (n.) - a stupid person. (See imbecile, dimwit, Cornelius Fudge.)**

_For Aiden Short_

* * *

"If you look up idiot in the dictionary, you know what you'll find?"

Fudge rolled his eyes. "What, pray tell, will I find, Auror Moody? A photograph of myself?"

Moody slammed his hand against the desk, and Fudge jumped back a little. "No," he growled. "You'll find the _definition _of _idiot. _Which you are!"

Fudge sighed. Alastor Moody was the only one who got away with talking to him like this, and that was only because Alastor Moody was the Ministry's Head of Security, so there was no one he could call to have the Auror thrown out of the office. "What would you like me to do?" he asked, trying his hardest not to look at the swirling eye strapped to the Auror's face. "Admit You-Know-Who is back? D'you have any idea what that would do to morale around here?"

Moody opened his mouth and let out one great _Hah! _"Morale?" he repeated. "You're worried about morale? You realize, Cornelius, that Lord Voldemort is murdering your staff, don't you?"

Fudge looked down at his desk out of respect for the casualties. "What happened to Amelia Bones was regrettable," he began, but Moody interrupted him.

"What happened to Amelia Bones was _avoidable_! If you let the world know the truth, instead of cowering in your office and telling the media everything's sunshine and daisies, people would be able to set up defenses, take precautions." Both of Moody's eyes were fixed on Fudge now, and the Minister had started to sweat. "You are dooming your own people, Fudge. The time for worrying about bloody _morale _is over."

Fudge rose to his feet. "You will not speak to me like that. Not in my own office."

"Won't be your office for long," Moody growled, and his eye began to spin again. "Rumors are flying all over the place. The Quibbler's published twelve articles on the subject already - editor's daughter was in the Department of Mysteries last spring with Potter. Meanwhile the Prophet's putting out human interest pieces on which is the best kind of _owl._" He jabbed a large finger at the paper on Fudge's desk, whose headline asked in bold font, _Spotted or Speckled? Which Breed of Bird is Right For You?_

"It's a very interesting article," Fudge said lamely.

Moody braced both palms against the desk and leaned forward until his disfigured nose was nearly touching Fudge's. "Listen to me very carefully," he said. "If you don't make some serious changes around here, you're going to be sacked, Fudge. I can guarantee you that much."

"Now, see here," Fudge said, turning his back on Moody in favor of his large window, which, in spite of being underground, was currently displaying a lovely view of London. "There's nothing I can do about the Prophet. Wiser to keep them quiet. Spreading rumors only feeds the fire. The last thing we need is more chaos."

"Don't give them rumors, then." Moody pointed his wand at the window and made a long shade appear. "Give them the truth."

Fudge sighed and turned back to face his Head Auror. "We don't _know _the truth. And I'm overworked as it is - " (this yielded another _Hah!_ from Moody) " - I can't go around tracking down witnesses. We only have what Dumbledore told us. Every story has two sides, and - "

"If I didn't know better, Cornelius," Moody interrupted, "I'd say you were about to tell me you wanted to hear _Voldemort's _version of what happened. But you're smarter than that, aren't you? You _have _to be."

"Of course that's not what I want," Fudge snapped. "I just meant we don't have all the facts."

Moody groaned. "You have testimonials from no fewer than thirteen people involved in the fight down in the Department of Mysteries. Myself included. If that doesn't cover every side of your bloody story, then I don't know what _does, _short of an interview with Voldemort himself, and - "

"Would you stop saying his _name_?" Fudge hissed.

Moody fixed Fudge with a hard glare. "I was wrong," he said finally. "About the definition of idiot."

"Well, apology accepted, and no hard feel - "

"You're much better suited for the definition of _coward_."

And with that, Moody swept out of his office, and a mildly offended Fudge sat back down and began to read what he found to be a titillating article about owls.

* * *

_[Battleship Challenge: E5 __- "If you look up idiot in the dictionary, you know what you'll find?"/__"A picture of me?"/__"No! You'll find the definition of idiot! Which you are!"__]_

_[Character Collection Competition: Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody (Order Members)]_

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Cornelius Fudge]_

_[Call It Heads or Tails Challenge: Tails - write a drabble]_

_[30 Harry Potter Prompts: Owl (animal)]_

_[Hook A Prompt: R8 - Overworked]_

_[Twelve Days of Christmas Style Challenge: Five Eras - Golden Trio (1/5)]_


	11. Ordinarily

**Ordinarily**

_For rhead_

* * *

Ordinarily, her head

is in the clouds.

It lassos the birds and

darts between fantasies,

and she's Dreamy, Dreamy, Dreamy -

and she won't come down for anything.

.

(Not even for you.)

(Especially not for _the Baron__._)

.

When she leaves, she leaves you with a Kiss

and a Promise and a tittering little laugh,

and you have a terrible feeling that

you will never

see

her

again.

.

And when she comes home again, her head is farther than the clouds -

it perches on tails of comets,

swings on the stars,

rockets through the atmosphere -

and she's Dreamy, Dreamy, Dreamy,

but there is something about her eyes

that makes you think she's horrified.

.

(You ask, but she only shakes her head.)

.

(Ordinarily, her feet are on the ground -

but now she stays in her palace in the sky

and refuses Reality,

and she Dreams, Dreams, Dreams

of Dark Forests and the Nightmares that happen there.)

.

* * *

_[Battleship Challenge: E9 - "You're usually in the clouds," he said. "But today you're in outer space. Are you ill?", JF, Marina by Carlos Ruiz Zafon]_

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Helena Ravenclaw]_

_[Twelve Days of Christmas Style Challenge: Five Era fics - Founders Era (2/5)]_

_[Call It Heads or Tails Challenge: Heads - write a poem]_

_[Globetrotter Drabble Competition: Magna Carta - write about the Founders Era]_


	12. There's A Ghost In My Bedroom

**There's A Ghost In My Bedroom**

_For Rae (KeepsAwayTheNargles)_

* * *

_There's a ghost in my bedroom, it haunts me at night__..._

_Now this ghost in my bedroom, it gives me advice,_

_He promised one day that he'd teach me to fight._

_Now when I think that I'm alone, he comes up my way with a devil's smile..._

* * *

The ghost appears in Molly's bedroom when she's three years old, and for some reason she isn't afraid.

"What's your name?" she asks him when he pokes his head through her window. "Mine's Molly."

"I know your name," the ghost says. "I know all about you." He glides over to her bed. "My name's Fred. I'm your uncle."

"Great." Molly climbs out of bed. "Do you want to play dollies with me?"

"Later, maybe," the ghost says. "Molly, which bedroom is your daddy's?"

"The one next door," Molly says.

"Can you take me there?"

"Okay. And then we'll play dollies? I have one that can transform into a unicorn, you know."

"Sure."

With the ghost at her heels, Molly pads down the hallway to her father's bedroom and pushes the door open. "Daddy?" Molly whispers, tapping her father's face. "There's someone who wants to talk to you."

"Hmm?" her father groans.

"Daddy, open your eyes," Molly insists.

"Yeah, Daddy," the ghost chimes in with a wicked grin, and at the sound of that voice her father sits straight up.

"_Fred_?"

"Hiya, Percy."

Molly's father reaches for his glasses on the nightstand. "What the - " He cuts himself off and ushers Molly out of the bedroom. "We can talk in the kitchen," he says to the ghost. "So we don't wake Audrey. Molly, go back to bed."

(As soon as she's in her room, Molly presses her ear against the door, and she hears everything.)

"How've you been, Perce?"

"I've been fine." Her father sounds breathless. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I came to forgive you."

"Forgive me?"

"Yeah." Her ghost is grinning again, she can _hear _it in his voice. "It's my unfinished business. All spirits have some. Once I tie up this loose end, I get to decide whether I want to go on to the afterlife or stick around here for all eternity."

"And your unfinished business is - forgiving me?"

"Well, technically yes," the ghost says. "It's a loophole, actually. There's nothing to forgive you _for. _It's not your fault I'm dead."

"It is," her father mutters, and Molly wonders what on Earth they're talking about.

"I've been avoiding it for a few years," her ghost continues. "I sort of like being a ghost. I've been haunting Ron's house for months, he has no idea why all his toilets keep flushing at midnight." He sighs dreamily. "But they've caught on, and I have to finish my business tonight, or I'm barred from moving on. So, here: I forgive you for sort-of-killing me."

"Are you going now, then?" her father asks. "To the afterlife?"

"Not yet," the ghost says. "I've got a few hours. They'll come for my decision at midnight. But I told little Molly I'd play dollies with her, and what kind of uncle would I be if I went back on my word?" The ghost pauses, and then: "She has one that can transform into a unicorn, you know."

(Molly smiles.)

* * *

_[Battleship Challenge: "Ghosts" by Mayday Parade]_

_[Collect A Collection Competition: Molly Weasly II]_

_[Globetrotter Competition:__ St. Johns, Newfoundland, Canada – Write about something that takes place in the nighttime.__]_

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Unicorn]_


	13. Red and Gold and You

**Red and Gold and You**

_For Taylor (Semblance of Sanity)_

* * *

Did you know, my love, that the first time I saw you,

Everything in my world turned red

And gold, and

Nobody looked quite as handsome as Gryffindor's newest Lion:

.

A boy who went by the

Name of

Dean Thomas.

.

So can you blame me, my love, for trying

Everything I could to talk to you?

And can you forgive me for the

Mishaps - for the roses, for the

Unsigned Valentines, for the

Serenades that made you cringe?

.

(Admit it: you secretly

Really

Enjoyed them all)

.

There was no hope for us back then, was there - not at first, not

As schoolboys, not when I was too timid and

You were too busy

Loving all the wrong people - and not when the

Only thing was had in common was a Common

Room and a Dormitory and a

School.

.

Oh, but things are different now, my love.

Now we have the Battle in common, and the Victory, and

Each other, and

.

The memory of the

Room of Requirement, where we stood hand in hand

Under floating candles and admitted we'd loved

Each other from the very first day.

.

Please, my love, make me

A vow, because since the moment we met

I have lived in a world that is

Red and gold and _you_, and

I cannot go back to the grays of the past. So promise me

Now, my love, that you will

Grow old with me, and let me die one day in your arms.

* * *

_Now go back and read only the first letter of each line ;)_

_._

_[Battleship Challenge: Floating candles, awkward serenades]_

_[Heads or Tails Challenge: Write in first person past tense]_

_[Globetrotter Competition: __Lisbon, Portugal – Write about someone who is completely devoted to another person]_


	14. Dedalus Diggle and the Purple Hat

**Dedalus Diggle and the Purple Hat**

* * *

When Dedalus Diggle's father died, he left the house to his wife and his bank vault to his mistress, and to Dedalus he left nothing but his large purple hat. It was comically oversized, even on a normal man, but on seven-year-old Dedalus it looked absurd. It slipped over his eyes and made him trip and stumble, which earned him the ridicule of his classmates, and several times a day his teachers had to remind him that it was rude to wear hats indoors.

(Dedalus didn't care, and he wore it anyway.)

He wore it on the train to Hogwarts, and he wore it during the Welcoming Feast (he took it off to be Sorted, but that was unavoidable), and when it was time for bed he set it gently on the nightstand beside his new Hufflepuff-yellow four poster and looked at it until he drifted off. Exactly nine people - seven girls, one boy, and one teacher - told him he next day that the purple clashed horribly with his yellow robes, but Dedalus didn't care, and he wore his hat anyway.

"Hey, freak! It's a little small, isn't it?" a sixth-year Slytherin jeered sarcastically on his way to dinner. He reached out to knock the hat off Dedalus' head.

Dedalus scampered after it and jammed it down tightly around his ears. "I know it's too big," he said. "I don't care. I like it."

The Slytherin moved to knock the hat again, but:

"Let him alone, Avery," a pale boy said quietly, and the sixth-year stopped. "Leave us," the pale boy commanded.

The boy called Avery paused. "But - "

"I said leave, Avery. I want to talk about you and I don't want you hearing."

Avery looked frustrated, but he swept around the corner.

"Are you all right?"

Dedalus nodded. He was still clutching his hat on his head.

"Avery's a buffoon," the boy said. Dedalus caught a glimpse of the Head Boy badge pinned to his chest. "I'm Riddle."

"Dedalus Diggle," Dedalus said, releasing his hat to shake Riddle's hand.

"Listen, Dedalus Diggle," Riddle said. "I'm going to give you some advice: don't stray from who you are. If you want to wear your hat, then wear your hat. Don't let anybody tell you you're wrong. Stand up for yourself. That's what I've always done, and it's proven successful so far." He tapped the badge on his chest.

"Avery called me a freak," Dedalus admitted.

"People called me a freak once, too." Riddle clenched his jaw. "Wear your hat, Dedalus Diggle. Wear it all the time, no matter what anyone says to you. And in a few years maybe you'll end up just like me."

(And later - years later, when the war was won and things had settled down - Dedalus turned his hat over and over in his hands and thanked _Merlin_ that he hadn't ended up just like Tom Riddle.)

* * *

_[Collect A Collection Competition: Dedalus Diggle (Order Members)]_

_[100 Prompts: "It's a little small, isn't it?"; __"Will you go stand over there for one moment?"/"Why?"/"I want to talk about you and I don't want you to hear."__]_

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Riddle Era]_

_[Twelve Days of Christmas Style Challenge: Five Eras - Riddle (4/5)]_

_[Globetrotter Challenge:__ Cape Town, South Africa –Write about being who you are.__]_

_[Heads or Tails Challenge: Second Level B - Tails - write third person past tense]_


	15. Imperfect

**Imperfect**

_For Remi (reminiscent-afterthought)_

* * *

_Oh, I kept the first for another day!_

_Yet knowing how way leads on to way,_

_I doubted if I should ever come back._

_- _The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost

* * *

She didn't mind that it was pouring rain -

Rain was more interesting than sunshine,

Because it was cold, and

Dangerous, and altogether

Imperfect.

.

(And Merlin knew

Lily Evans was

Imperfect.)

.

They climbed the hill hand in hand,

And twice she slipped, and twice he

Caught her.

Her dress was torn, and her feet were

Bare, and everything about her

Was alive and wild and

Imperfect.

.

And the two of them didn't make _sense -_

Because Lily Evans liked rules and

James Potter liked chaos

And _didn't she think she was better suited_

_For a boy-next-door like Severus Snape?_

.

(Secretly she thought she'd turn back someday

And give the boy next door a chance -

But for now she tread down the rarer path

With the boy who was so

Imperfect

For her.)

.

At the top of the hill he told her to

Close her eyes

(And she said no -

Because if he wanted chaos, then

She was going to break every rule she could find.)

.

_Close your eyes_, he said again, and

For the second time

She said no.

.

_Then look_, he said, and he knelt,

And in the middle of the rain he offered her

A star yoked to a silver band.

_Look at this_, _and tell me whether_

_You think_

_We could be_

_Perfect._

.

(She smiled and shook her head.

_Not perfect_, she said, because perfect was

Sunshine, and Merlin knew

Lily Evans

Preferred rain.)

.

And she kissed him until

They were thoroughly soaked

In thunder and mud

And each other.

.

* * *

_[Battleship Challenge: The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost]_

_[100 prompts: Climbing; "Look at this"]_

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Weather]_

_[Globetrotter Competition:__ Saint Petersburg, Russia – use the phrase "three time's the charm" as inspiration.__]_

_[Heads or Tails Challenge: Second Level B - Tails - third person past tense]_

_[Twelve Days of Christmas Style Challenge: Five Eras - Marauders Era (5/5)]_


	16. Heavy Accents

**Heavy Accents**

* * *

They meet at Hogwarts, and the first thing he tells her is that he's never been to France.

"You should come someday," she tells him, and he says he wants to. "I can show you all zhe best places."

(She's starstruck, just like the rest of them.)

"Vell," he says with a smirk (he's starstruck, too, because she's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen), "maybe you vill come to Bulgaria someday."

"I 'ave been," she says.

"And vhat did you think?"

She wrinkles her nose. "It was not to my liking, I'm afraid. France is much more romantic."

He laughs once. "Romance," he says. "I have no use for romance."

She arches her eyebrows. "You do not?"

He shakes his head. "I must train. For Quidditch."

"Ah," she says softly, and a strand of her silvery hair is coming untucked from its complicated twist, so he reaches out to tuck it behind her ear. "Yes, I 'ave 'eard you played Quidditch."

"Do you play?"

She shakes her head. "I am studying too much. I want to become a wand maker."

It's obviously not what he'd expected. "Complicated career," he says, and she nods.

"So you see," she says, and she's looking at him very deliberately, "zhat I, also, 'ave no time for romance."

(He thinks something may be getting lost in translation, because those are bedroom eyes if he's ever seen them.)

"No time at all?" he asks.

She lifts one shoulder in a graceful shrug. "No time at all. But why should zhis matter to you, if you are always so busy with your Quidditch?"

He mimics her shrug. "I do have one night off," he admits. "Tonight. Because of the Tournament. Now that I am Durmstrang's Champion, I am allowed to . . . celebrate."

Her eyes are sparkling, and he can't tell whether it's because she likes him or because she's laughing at him.

"Maybe you have this night off, as vell?" he asks.

She nods. "To celebrate," she says. "Because of the Tournament. Yes."

"Maybe you could use some company?"

She smirks. "Are you 'oping to spy on me, Monsieur Krum? Wait until I 'ave let down my guard and then learn all my weaknesses?"

"I am interested in finding a few weaknesses," he murmurs, and his eyes slide down to her lips.

Her smirk deepens at that, but she's not ready to give up the joke. "Do you ask to spend zhe night with _all _zhe Champions?"

He winks. "Only the beautiful ones."

She laughs and shakes her head. More silvery hair comes loose from her bun, and he reaches to push it back, but she pulls away and reaches up behind her head. One pin comes out, and suddenly her hair is spilling out around her face, and if he thought she was beautiful before it was doubled now.

"One night off," she muses. "Zhat does not sound like romance to me."

"No," he agrees, "it sounds like passion," and he can't help it, he's reaching out for her hair again.

(She lets him wind his hands in it and pull her in close.)

"Do you do zhis often?" she asks. "Zhese . . . one-night passions?"

He nods. They're still standing outside the Great Hall, and he knows people can see, he knows people are watching, but he doesn't care, he needs this girl, this woman, this _veela_, and the truth is he _doesn't _have one-night passions, not ever, not even once before, but for her he'll make an exception.

"And you?" he asks.

She nods. "No emotions," she says. "No feelings. Only zhe physical." And she steps forward and trails one finger down his chest. "And zhen by zhe next morning I 'ave forgotten zheir names."

"Have you forgotten my name yet?" he asks, and he's a little breathless but he hides it well.

"I do not think your name will be so easy to forget, Monsieur Krum."

* * *

He doesn't wait around until morning.

(But that's just because she won't let him.)

"Leave me," she orders when they're finished, and the bedsheets are tangled up around their legs and her hair is mussed and there are still heavy sighs echoing between the walls.

"You vant to end the night so soon?" he asks, and she nods. "Vhy?"

She lets a smirk drift across her mouth. "Because if we let it linger, it will grow," she says. "And I think I am right zhat neither of us want that?"

So he slinks out of her room and crosses the Grounds in the dark, and it's only when he reaches his own bedroom that he realizes that in spite of their passion-making, she never actually kissed him.

(And in spite of the slip of paper that had flown from the Goblet of Fire, he never caught her name.)

* * *

_[Relationship Bingo Board: D3 - it's just sex]_

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: France]_


	17. Wedding Vows

**Wedding Vows**

* * *

There was a swing in the backyard, and once her sisters had gone away to Hogwarts Cissy liked to sit on it and relish the loneliness.

(Because her entire life had been _Bella is so smart _and _Dromeda is so beautiful _and _Cissy, are you going to be smart or beautiful? _and she wanted none of it.)

She sat on the swing even though it was uncomfortable - it was made of a long wooden plank and two lengths of rope slung over a tree branch - and she pumped her legs and pretended she could fly, because that was the one thing her sisters had never done. Dromeda was afraid of heights, and Bella was too proud to use something a muggle could have built, but Cissy was fearless and Cissy was humble and Cissy was _Cissy_, so she did what she wanted.

(Sometimes the Malfoy boy came around, and she let him push her on the swing.)

"What do you think of Lucius?" her mother asked one day when Cissy came in for lunch.

Cissy shrugged and helped herself to a sandwich. "He's a good pusher."

"Do you think he's a good friend?"

Cissy nodded. "Do we have any pumpkin juice?"

"We've been talking with Lucius' parents," her mother said, fetching Cissy a goblet and filling it with juice. "He thinks you're a very good friend."

Cissy took a long drink. "Thank you," she said when she'd drained the goblet. "May I have more?"

Her mother refilled the cup. "Did you know Lucius has a lot of money?"

"No." She took a gulp. For some reason, the more she drank, the thirstier she became. "Do we have a lot of money?"

"Yes, darling, but don't talk about that. It's impolite."

"Okay." Her cup was empty again. "More, please."

Her mother filled it again and passed it back. "Now, you can never have too much money," she told her daughter. "More is always better with this kind of thing."

"Is Lucius going to give us some?" (And she was thirstier than ever, but the pumpkin juice was gone, and she had to ask for another refill.)

"It's more complicated than that. Lucius can't just give away his money. He can only share it with his wife."

"Lucius doesn't have a wife. Mummy, may I please have some more?"

Her mother ignored the second part. "He's going to have a wife someday, and his parents want to plan it out now. Cissy, darling, we've arranged for _you _to be his wife."

"What?" (How was it possible for a tongue to feel this dry?) "I don't want to marry Lucius. Mummy, isn't there any pumpkin juice left?"

"I want you to tell me you'll marry him."

"I don't even love him. Mother, I'm _thirsty_."

"It isn't about love. It's about your duty to this family."

Cissy tried to stand to get to the pumpkin juice herself, but her mother flicked her wand, and Cissy found herself stuck in her chair.

"Say you'll marry him."

"Water," croaked Cissy.

"You may have all the water you want, Narcissa, when you agree to marry Lucius."

"You charmed my juice," Cissy accused, and her throat felt raspy and raw.

Her mother didn't say anything, just sat, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"I'll marry him," Cissy promised. "I'll do it, just give me some water, _please!_"

"I want your promise, Narcissa."

"I promise!"

Her mother leaned across the table. "Give me your hand," she said, and Cissy obeyed. "Krissy!" she called, and the family house elf appeared with a _crack. _"I need a witness for this, Krissy, don't go anywhere." She pulled out her wand. "Will you, Narcissa Black, marry Lucius Malfoy when you are both of age?"

Cissy barely registered the red-hot tongue of flame winding around her wrist. "I will, I will, please let me have a drink!"

"This is an Unbreakable Vow, Cissy. If you break your word, do you know what will happen?"

Cissy nodded, and there were tears streaming down her face.

Her mother finished the Vow and handed her daughter a glass of water. "You know I'm only doing this because I love you, and I want you to do your part in this family."

Cissy was gulping too quickly to respond.

(Later, she sat on her swing and stared at the burn marks circling her wrist, and she realised she hated her mother.)

* * *

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: swing]_

_[Relationship Bingo Board Challenge: E5 - Arranged marriage]_

_[30 Harry Potter Prompts: Pumpkin Juice]_


	18. Written in the Stars

**Written in the Stars**

_*Rated M for rape and murder_

* * *

Helena Ravenclaw is lovely, and talented, and clever, and humorous, and you _want her._

(She doesn't want you back, but that's just a minor detail.)

It's practically written in the stars, isn't it, because you're in Slytherin and she's a Ravenclaw in every sense of the word, and look at the fiery passion that had thrived between the founders of those two houses. The fiery romances are the best ones, you think; they're spontaneous, and thrilling, and they taste like _lightning_.

And you want one.

"Helena," you say one day, and she stops walking and turns to greet you. "Have you made plans yet, for the weekend?"

She bites down on her lip, and you find yourself fantasizing about what you would do if you had those lips all to yourself for awhile. "Studying, mostly," she says finally. "Why?"

"I was thinking of going away," you say, "and I'd wondered if you'd care to join me."

She says no and tosses you a sad little smile as she turns away, and a pang of fury jumps through your bones. Doesn't she know who you are? Doesn't she realize she's just rejected the son of a bloody _baron_?

"Helena," you call, and this time she doesn't turn back. Her hair billows in soft brown curls down her back, and you stare at the back of her head (because what else can you do but watch her walk away?) and imagine what those curls must smell like.

* * *

Years go by, and suddenly you aren't a Slytherin anymore because you aren't at Hogwarts anymore because you've graduated, you're free, and so is Helena - except she's _not _free, she's _yours_, even if she doesn't know it yet. It's written in the stars, after all. Ravenclaws and Slytherins. First Rowena and Salazar, now Helena and _you_.

And she's not allowed to say no.

"Helena," you call, and she turns to smile at you. "I'm going for a drink to celebrate the commencement," you say. "Do you want to join me?"

She declines, and you don't even have a chance to reach out and touch one of those curls before she's gliding away to hug her mother.

* * *

You find her again in Albania.

(And you act like it's a coincidence that you turn up in the same place she's on holiday, but it's not, is it.)

"Helena," you call from the edge of the forest.

She whirls, looking for the source of the voice, but you're cloaked by the shadows of the trees, and all she can see is the glint of moonlight coming off your knife.

"It's me," you say, taking a step toward her. "From Hogwarts."

(She doesn't recognize you, and she says so.)

"I was the one in Slytherin," you say. "The one who wanted you to come out for drinks after graduation?"

She's biting her lip, you can see it in the pale light, and your grip on your knife redoubles.

"I think you'd better join me this time," you say.

You see her hand twitch for her wand. "_Stupef - _"

Before she can finish the spell you've thrown your knife with all the strength you can muster.

It lands hilt-deep in her stomach.

You cross to her in three long strides and catch her before she crumples to the ground. "Easy, love," you whisper, and for the first time in your life you run your hands through those soft brown curls.

(The tips are stained with blood.)

She's moaning and crying and begging you to _letmedie_, but you can't, not yet, not until you've finally _had _her. It's written in the stars, after all, and this is the fieriest thing you've ever done.

"Tell me you like it," you whisper, and then you're under her skirt and beneath her bodice and kissing that trembling mouth, and there is blood seeping out of her with every heartbeat, it's staining your Slytherin-green robes. "Tell me you want more," you beg.

She'd fading in your arms, and you press yourself more firmly into her until she shudders and moans. "That's it, love," you say. "Beg me for more."

And suddenly there's a flash of this fantastic _pain, _and you gasp and drop the woman in your arms.

"I beg you to die," she says hoarsely from the ground.

When you look down at yourself, your own knife is sticking out of your chest.

(And you don't even care, do you.)

* * *

_[Relationship Bingo Board: E2 - Non-con]_

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Stupefy]_

_[30 Harry Potter Prompts: Ravenclaw]_

_[Het-pairings Boot Camp: green]_


	19. I Love You (And You And You)

**I Love You (And You. And You.)**

* * *

Nobody knows better than Pansy Parkinson that it's possible to love more than one person at the same time.

(And she says "person," not "man," because Pansy doesn't exactly discriminate between the two.)

It starts with Draco - of course it starts with Draco, because Draco is charismatic and dutiful and confident, which is everything she wants - on the train at the beginning of sixth year. They're alone in the compartment when he tells her he fancies her, and she gives him a smirk and asks why on _Earth _he wants her when the Granger girl is sitting just three compartments over.

He rolls his eyes at that, but he also laughs.

_I mean it_, she says. _Tell me all the reasons you'd rather have me than Granger. And maybe I'll let you have a go._

He raises his eyebrows, because Draco Malfoy isn't used to being ordered around like that, but in the end he lists off his reasons.

The list starts off as a joke (_Granger is a mudblood and you're pure; Granger is a Gryffindor and you're not; Granger is ugly and you're attractive) _but there's a shift around number ten _(I could get lost in your eyes for days; every time you laugh I have little chills) _and it culminates in a kiss.

_D'you want to go out with me? _he asks quietly when the compartment fills up. _Properly, I mean?_

Pansy Parkinson nods her head very slightly.

* * *

The next one is Daphne Greengrass, who is dark-haired and obedient and shy, which Pansy Parkinson has also always wanted, and even though she and Draco have been "official" for nearly a month she finds herself chasing after Daphne.

:are you going to Hogsmeade next weekend?: she asks Daphne one morning in the bathroom while they powder their noses.

:I wasn't planning to.: Daphne snaps her compact shut. :Why?:

:Because I _was _planning to, but Draco's got Quidditch practice, so I thought you could join me instead.:

:What, like a consolation date?:

And Pansy smirks, because that's exactly what she has in mind. :Did you know I fancy you?: she asks, and her tone is so matter-of-fact that Daphne doesn't understand for a moment.

:Fancy me? As in - :

:As in just as much as Draco, yes.: Pansy leans over the mirror and swipes bright red lipstick across her mouth.

:Erm. I'm flattered. Thank you. But you've got a boyfriend.:

Pansy shrugs. :What he doesn't know isn't going to hurt him,: she says, and before she can think it through, she's pulling Daphne in by her Slytherin tie and pressing their entire bodies against each other. :Do you feel anything for me?: Pansy asks, looking up at Daph through half-closed eyelids and trailing her hand down the other girl's spine.

Daphne shivers. :Something, I think. Yeah.:

Pansy grins. :So kiss me already.:

:Oh, no.: Daphne leans away. :I don't want anything like this. If I'm going to do anything I want it to be - you know, long-term. Exclusive.:

:I don't do exclusive, honey,: Pansy says, and she's tugging Daph back in again. :But long-term I think we can manage.:

And she slaps Daphne's bum - it yields a surprised little shriek - and kisses her hard.

* * *

The third one is Blaise Zabini, and he's tall and dashing and a little bit dangerous, they say, which is exactly what Pansy Parkinson has always wanted.

/Partner with me for Potions?/ he asks when he catches her staring, and she nods and abandons the cauldron she's been sharing with Crabbe.

/How are you and Malfoy these days?/ he asks as they prepare their ingredients.

/Fine./ She turns up the heat beneath the cauldron.

/Shame./ He pours in some water. /I was hoping you'd broken up so I could ask you out./

Pansy laughs. /You can ask me now./

He raises his eyebrows. /You're willing to cheat?/

/It's not cheating. We aren't exclusive./

/Does Malfoy know that?/

She shrugs. /We've never really talked about it. Go on. Ask me out. See if I say yes./

He laughs. /All right then. Will you?/

And she arranges her chopped caterpillars into the word YES.

* * *

_Pansy Parkinson is dating three people at once._

:But the thing about them is,:

/none of them have ever really said/

"I love you."

* * *

_[Relationship Bingo Board: B4 - Open relationship]_

_[I Kissed A Girl Competition]_

_[30 Harry Potter Prompts: Potions]_


	20. Shining

**Shining**

_An Acrostic_

* * *

As the train pulls into its Station, you take a

Moment to look around for the very last time.

Everything is unusually shabby, as if the

Lights have been dulled and flattened with grime - or maybe

It has always looked this way,

And only those who have left Hogwarts can see its truth.

.

Because you would swear that when you jumped

On this train for the very first time,

Nothing about it seemed dull.

Everything was so _new _back then, and

_Shining_, and now it just_ isn't._

.

Lucky, then, that there's a girl right next to you who shines on her own, with

Open arms and intense eyes and a smile that is almost

Vicious - and lucky that girl's fierce kiss is

Everything you have ever wanted - and lucky that

She _loves you._

.

(Because you don't know yet, do you, that with

Every passing second this girl you're so

Lucky to have moves one inch closer to

Lord Voldemort.

And you don't know that in the end, she's the one who kills you.)

.

* * *

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Amelia Bones]_

_[I Kissed a Girl Competition]_

_[Globetrotter Competition:__London, England – Write about King's Cross Station__]_


	21. Cheek

**Cheek**

* * *

It wasn't anything more than a kiss on the cheek.

Because Ron was dating Lavender and Lavender was dating Ron, and Hermione and Parvati were alone together, and what's better for lonely hearts than a little bit of wine and some commiserating?

"She's silly," Parvati said bitterly, pouring herself a new glass. "She only likes him because he plays Quidditch. She wouldn't have touched him a year ago."

"Ron's only doing it to try and prove something," Hermione said. "Harry's never had a girlfriend, and it makes Ron feel _special _that he beat the Chosen One at something." She rolled her eyes. "Pathetic. It's not love, and they aren't going to last."

"Tell me honestly," Parvati said, leaning in close. "Do you have feelings for Ron?"

Hermione only hesitated for a second before she shook her head.

"Really?" Parvati took a sip of wine. "Because you get awfully defensive about this."

"He's my friend."

"I have feelings for Lavender," Parvati blurted, and then she turned red.

"You do?"

Parvati nodded. "Started off small. Just a crush. I was handling it. But now that she's with him - " She cut herself off. "I wish I had a boyfriend," she said. "To see if it would make her jealous."

Hermione drained her wine glass. "Who says you need a _boy_friend?" she asked, and she looked very deliberately at Parvati's lips.

The other girl giggled uncomfortably. "What are you saying?"

"Just - what if we could make them both jealous?"

"You and me, you mean? Together? With - you're talking about with Polyjuice potion or something, right? So they think we've got boyfriends, and - "

"No, Parvati." She leaned in and planted a kiss on Parvati's smooth cheek. "_You and me."_

Parvati licked her lips. "Yeah, all right." She returned the cheek kiss and clasped Hermione's hands in her own. "Let's try."

(And it wasn't anything more than a kiss on the cheek.)

(But it was enough to make both their hearts absolutely _race_.)

* * *

_[I Kissed A Girl Competition]_

_[Monthly Drabble a Thon: Polyjuice Potion]_

_[Twelve Days of Christmas Challenge: 6 drabbles under 500 words (2/6)]_


	22. Useless

**Useless**

_An Acrostic_

* * *

Did you ever guess that freedom would make you feel so useless?

(Of course you didn't.

Because you always thought it would be a relief to get away -

But this is misery, this is the worst kind of punishment, and

You don't really know how to go on.)

.

It's difficult, isn't it, like trying to swim with an anchor

Strapped around your neck.

.

(And part of you wishes you'd drowned a long time ago.)

.

Find a purpose (that's your mantra) find a purpose find a purpose, find a

Real job with real wages so you can

Eat real food and sleep on real sheets and

Exist in the world whose rules you're resolved to ignore.

.

Eventually it will all be worth it - nobody ever said

Life was easy for a free elf, now did they.

(Find a _purpose_.)

.

* * *

_[Monthly Drabble a Thon: House elf]_

_[Heads or Tails Challenge: Find a purpose]_


	23. Too Weak to Face the Dark

**Too Weak to Face the Dark**

* * *

All he wants is to be with his brother.

(Because Hagrid is in _trouble_, he can _feel _it, and he may not be as smart as the humans but he still knows more than they do.)

So he tears at the tree they've got him tied to, and by the time he's broken off all the branches it's sundown and he's starting to get nervous, because he's afraid of the darkness and he doesn't know how he's going to save Hagrid if he can't even see.

"Haggar?" he asks, but there's no answer (he should've known there wasn't going to be an answer. He's an idiot, an _idiot _giant who's too small for his tribe and too big for his brother's house and too strong to go unchained but too weak to face the dark and he doesn't really know where he fits in, but _Hagrid _knows, Hagrid knows everything, Hagrid is a good brother and Grawp _needs him._)

"Haggar?"

No answer again, and he knows he shouldn't cry, knows he isn't supposed to, but he can feel it beginning deep in his throat. He knows he could break free of these ropes any time. He won't do it, of course - Hagrid asked him to stay, so he's going to stay - but that obedience doesn't stop him from tearing the bark from the tree out of nervousness.

"Haggar?"

Nothing, and Grawp lowers himself to the ground (carefully, so he doesn't cause another earthquake) and stares at his hands until the sun comes back up.

"Haggar?"

No answer.

Grawp bursts into tears.

* * *

_[Monthly Drabble a Thon: Giant]_

_[Heads or Tails Challenge: Write about a character looking for freedom]_

_[Twelve Days of Christmas Style Challenge: 6 fics under 500 words (3/6)]_

_[30 Harry Potter Prompts: Forbidden Forest]_

_[Globetrotter Challenge:__ Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea – Write about a struggle, metaphorical or literal.__]_


	24. So You Want To Be An Auror?

**So You Want To Be An Auror?**

* * *

"Well, Mr. Shacklebolt, have you given any thought to your career?"

Kingsley hadn't, and he said so.

"None at all?"

"Sorry, Professor."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Well, which are your best subjects?"

He didn't like his subjects, and he said that, too.

"Which areas interest you, then?" McGonagall asked, conjuring a stack of brochures. "Diagon Alley? Hogsmeade? The Ministry of Magic? Hogwarts?" She handed him the pamphlets. "Leaf through these, see if anything catches your eye."

But he wasn't interested in St. Mungo's, or Gringotts, or the Knight Bus route, or anything else on the brochures, and he told her so.

"What do you do in your spare time, then?" McGonagall asked, and he could tell she was becoming frustrated.

"I read books," Kingsley said. "Muggle books."

"Maybe a Muggle Studies teacher," McGonagall mused, but Kingsley shook his head.

"Not that kind. I meant books written _by _muggles. You know. Novels."

"So you want to . . . what? Become a muggle? Have a muggle career?"

Kingsley shrugged. "I just want to do something different. Feel like I actually have a purpose. I don't want to be just another shop owner. I want something one of a kind. Something that matters."

"Minister of Magic is one of a kind," McGonagall said, holding up the Ministry brochure.

Kingsley laughed. "The day I become Minister of Magic is the day Professor Dumbledore shaves off his beard." He reached across the desk for the pamphlet about Muggle Studies, but his hand landed instead on one that read, _So You Want To Be An Auror?_

"Did you want this one?" McGonagall asked, offering him the Teaching brochure.

"No," Kingsley said, and his eyes were glued to the Auror booklet. "No, thank you. I want to look through this first."

* * *

_[Monthly Drabble a Thon: Kingsley Shacklebolt]_

_[Heads or Tails Challenge: Looking for a purpose]_

_[Twelve Days of Christmas Style Challenge: 6 fics under 500 words (4/6)]_


	25. Patiently

**Patiently**

* * *

She's been living near Harry Potter's house for years, spying for Dumbledore - because that's all Squibs are good for, isn't it? The boring, dirty work that nobody else wants to do? There's never been a disturbance here, not one, but still they make her stay.

(She's _useless_ to the Order, and she knows it, even if they're too polite to say so.)

Maybe that's why she's never been married - the "Mrs." at the beginning of her name is a lie to make herself feel better and the "husband who died in the war" is a fabrication to explain it all away to the neighbors. Maybe it's because she'd be nothing but a helpless nuisance to any wizard foolish enough to make her his wife. She's useless to wizards, and muggles are useless to her, and as for Squibs - well, the only other one she knows is Argus Filch, and his cat doesn't get along with her cats, which is a deal breaker right there.

So she sits patiently in her empty house and peers out the window at Number Four, Privet Drive, waiting for danger that never comes.

(Until one day it does.)

She sees the Dementors glide past her window out of the corner of her eye, and a thrill goes through her.

"_Finally,"_ she mutters, and she bolts for the door and races down the street to find Harry Potter and make herself useful for once.

It never occurs to her that she doesn't know what she's going to do if she catches up. It's not like she has any way to defend herself - the only spell she's ever been able to manage in her life is _desaugeo, _the tooth-enlarging spell, and that was only because she'd lost her temper years ago at a Christmas party, but Merlin knows _desaugeo _isn't going to have any effect on a bloody Dementor.

But sometimes heroes have to charge into battle unarmed, and even though she's not exactly a hero, she has to do _something_.

She trots down the street with a shopping bag full of cat food tins clutched in her hand (because even if she can't do magic, at least she has some kind of heavy object to throw), and it isn't long before she finds them. One look at the Dementors and the whole world goes cold - she's thrown back in time to every terrible memory she's ever had - _waiting for a Hogwarts letter that is never going to come _- _joining the Order only to sit in her house doing nothing _- _trying to be patient when she feels like screaming. . . ._

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" she hears Harry bellow.

The Dementors scatter. One of them swoops past her, and it's far too close for comfort, but it doesn't stop to attack. She opens her eyes just in time to see Harry Potter stow his wand in his pocket.

"Don't put it away, idiot boy!" she cries. "What if there are more of them about?" She pushes the shopping bag a little farther up her arm and looks around. "Oh, I am going to _kill _Mundungus Fletcher!"

(But secretly, she's overjoyed, because she's been waiting patiently for this for years.)

* * *

_[Monthly Drabble a Thon: Desaugeo]_

_[Forbidden Word Competition: Arabella Figg]_

_[Heads or Tails Challenge: "patience"]_


	26. The Phoenix and the Basilisk

**The Phoenix and the Basilisk**

_or "The Undoing of Salazar Slytherin"_

* * *

She's fire, isn't she -

Because she blazes when she's angry, and when she's triumphant.

She glows when she weeps,

Ignites when she dreams,

(Smoulders when she looks at you,)

And even her robes are the hue of

Bluebell Flames.

.

And then there's you:

Cold; reserved;

Green with envy

Of her shining incendiary wit.

She provokes you, she _dares _you,

She beckons with one finger and she tosses you a wink and she

Offers you _everything._

(And she tears you apart with her fiery tongue.)

.

Because ice must love fire from afar

Or else destroy itself for the sake of a kiss,

And neither is more agonizing than the other.

.

(You let her kill you in the end, don't you,

Because you'd rather be blind

Than watch the fire dance on without you.)

* * *

_[Monthly Drabble a Thon: Incendio]_

_[Heads or Tails Challenge: Opposites]_

_[Globetrotter Competition: __Alert, Nunavut, Canada – Write about someone distant and cold]_


	27. The Anniversary

**The Anniversary**

* * *

Luna Lovegood liked to talk to the Thestrals.

She had a feeling they understood her. Maybe not word-for-word, but they could sense her grief, and they knew how to comfort her.

She stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest after dinner with a plate of raw chicken she'd gotten from a house elf, and it wasn't long before one of them ventured out to see her. "Hello," she said, offering one a slice of meat. He took it gently between his teeth and nuzzled his lips against her palm. "Good to see you, too," she said with a smile. "How've you been?"

The Thestral nickered softly.

"Good." She sat down in the grass and leaned her back against a tree. "Sad, actually. The anniversary is tomorrow."

The Thestral knew which anniversary she was talking about, and he nudged her cheek with his muzzle.

"I don't think I know how to cry anymore," Luna confessed. "I've been holding in all my tears for so long, I don't think they'd fall if I wanted them to."

The Thestral ducked to help himself to a piece of chicken.

"I'm crying on the inside," she said, reaching up to stroke the nose of her companion. "I know it's the opposite of what you're supposed to do. Don't bottle things up, that's what everyone told me. But I couldn't help it." She sighed and made to lower her hand, but the Thestral whinnied and bucked his head, so she resumed her stroking. "My dad cried a lot. He tried to hide it, but I always knew. So I decided to be the strong one."

The chicken was gone, but the Thestral stayed.

"I cry on the inside," she whispered. "It's opposite again. I can't cry on the outside, but on the inside - I never _stop_."

(And when the clock hit midnight, Luna squinted up into her Thestral's glowing eyes and imagined that her mother's soul was looking out from behind them.)

* * *

_[Monthly Drabble a Thon: Thestral]_

_[Heads or Tails Challenge: Opposite]_

_[Twelve Days of Christmas Style Challenge: 6 fics under 500 words (5/6)]_

_[Globetrotter Competition: __Ponte Rialto bridge, Venice, Italy –Write about a mother/daughter relationship.__]_


	28. Untold

**Untold**

_An Acrostic_

* * *

_Don't go inside,_ they said -

Every room is a different

Pandora's Box, and a whispered

_Alohamora_ is enough to

Release the wonders (and

Terrors) within; but once they escape, nothing can

Make them crawl back inside their cages, because no spell on

Earth is strong enough to destroy Human

Nature, and no spell can cure

Temptation.

.

Only the Unspeakables walk those halls, and they sealed their

Fates the moment they touched the doorknobs.

.

Maybe it's better that way, though, with

You sitting in the darkness forever while the

Secrets of the universe fester within

Their rooms: one room devoted

Entirely to Life, and one to Death; a

Room for Time, a room for Space; a room with something

Inside that nobody has

Ever been able to name, and _maybe that's for a reason -_

(Some secrets are better left untold.)

* * *

_[Monthly Drabble a Thon: Department of Mysteries]_

_[Globetrotter Competition: __Argentina – Write about someone/something foreign, in any sense of the word]_

_[30 Harry Potter Prompts: Magic]_

_]_


End file.
